


Priorities: AKA another Chick Flick Moment

by Sensue



Series: Suitcase of Memories [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherhood AU, Fever, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Medical, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26001436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sensue/pseuds/Sensue
Summary: Caleb Reaves is really sick. His dad takes care of him. "When I decided to adopt you, the priorities of my life radically changed, son."
Series: Suitcase of Memories [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887088
Kudos: 3





	Priorities: AKA another Chick Flick Moment

The ceiling had some kind of stain on it; the more he thought about it, the more that the stain seemed to be trying to tell him something. It was moving around in seemingly random shapes. He tried to tell it to slow down, but it wasn't listening to him—just kept moving around in small spirals. At one point, it looked like Odi from Garfield. He laughed lightly at it.

He pulled one of his hands out of the covers and tried to reach for it. He abandoned the thought a moment later when his shaking arm refused to be held up for more than a moment. Not knowing why he wanted to go back to sleep. Suddenly, he felt tired again, even though he hadn't even gotten out of bed yet. The alarm clock was ignored; too tired to even hit the snooze button, it continued to blast his morning choice of music. The morning show celebrities joked around about the current events as he half-heartedly dozed off.

Jerking at the sound of someone calling his name, he looked at the small black radio next to his bed. "Wow," he thought, "they called my name. Did I win something? I don't remember entering a contest…"

They called his name again, and he remembered that he had to call them back. He reached for the phone, wincing when his wrist bumped against the nightstand and hit it with a force that knocked most everything from its resting place. The phone dropped to the carpet with a thud. He turned in the bed, struggling against the heavy wrappings that were restraining him. His heart drummed against his chest almost painfully, as he tried to get both of his arms free. With a cry, he pushed against the sheets and kicked them away.

When he was through, he lay against the pillow, sweat covered and gasping slightly trying to get his breath back. The stain was taunting him now—like an animated Odi, laughing at him. He closed his eyes, angry at it. "Don't laugh at me," he yelled at it.

The room was moving again, and he felt himself shifting position. He opened his eyes to see a blue and black dotted tie against his cheek. Reaching for it, he tried to use it to lever himself into a more upright position but it was quickly pulled out of his grasp.

"Stop, Caleb. You're choking me." The tie spoke. One of the blue dots had a mouth, like Pac-man. It was opening and closing its mouth and chased all of the other dots around, trying to eat them.

"Don't eat your friends. They're like you. You're a cannibal!" He gripped the tie tighter, bringing it up to his eye level, trying to talk some sense into Pac-man. The tie was pulled from his hands again roughly, but before he could get upset; it was limp and placed in his palm. He shook it a couple of times, trying to bring it to life again.

He felt warm hands gripping his face, and he brought his gaze up to a familiar set of eyes. "Hi, Mac. Where did you come from?"

"Can you hear me, son?" Mackland Ames asked, worriedly.

"Yeah, I hear you." Caleb yawned and tried to flop back into bed.

"No, Caleb. You have to get up." Mac pulled him back up against his chest; he slipped a hand under his underarm and Caleb squirmed, ticklish.

"Where are we going? Did I win something? Are we going to Disney World?" The thirteen-year-old mumbled almost incoherently.

The boy was forced to walk down the hall, his adoptive father almost dragging him. He stopped midway, taking in a couple of deep breaths. "What's wrong, Caleb?"

"I'm tired. Gotta catch my breath." The short distance from his bedroom to the hall exhausted him. He coughed weakly, then continued to shuffle along at Mac's insistence. What seemed to take all day, but was less than a minute later, he was in the spacious bathroom of their new New York City apartment.

Mac's previous lease had run out, giving the new family an opportunity to search around for a place that suited both of their needs. Caleb had wanted a room where he could blast his rock music without punishment, and Mackland had wanted the finer luxuries his wealth offered, including a hot tub. The man claimed that after a long day on his feet, all he wanted to do was soak out the muscle aches in the comfort of his own home. Caleb didn't even wait until the man was out of town before throwing a 'house-warming' party of his own. Mac allowed it, for once, and chaperoned to make sure that it wouldn't get out of hand. At the first sign of skinny-dipping, he called it a night and sent the youngsters home. Caleb was embarrassed by him and refused to talk to him afterward, keeping to his new bedroom.

He had almost no warning that the boy was sick. With the exception of his 'vision' and tension related headaches, Caleb was in great health. He'd woken to his normal morning routine, washing up, getting dressed, and making breakfast for the both of them. Caleb's alarm had gone off shortly after, and he'd been expecting Caleb to groan about how early it was, then eat everything on the table.

The alarm had been going off for over twenty minutes, without end. Caleb usually hit the snooze a few times before managing to crawl out of bed. When it was obvious that the radio wasn't going to turn off on its own, Mackland took the food off the stove and went into his son's room. He knocked on the door and was completely ignored.

Calling out his name, he quickly realized that the boy was talking to someone else. He opened the door, dreading what he'd find behind it. He really didn't want to find his thirteen-year-old sneaking girls in his bedroom.

Much to his relief, there was no one else in the room, although he was tempted to search under Caleb's bed. He called his name again and was greeted with gibberish. He had no idea what he was talking about. In the space of thirty seconds, Caleb was talking about a dog on the ceiling and winning a contest on the radio.

As he neared his bed, the sight of Caleb's pale, yet sweaty skin and his obvious shortness of breath had him quickly reacting. He kneeled beside the bed and pulled Caleb upright against his chest. Once contact was made, the doctor quickly was able to detect the fever causing the confusion.

Caleb clung to him, reaching up to grip his tie tightly as if examining it under a microscope. He was slowly choking him and he fought to get loose. "Stop, Caleb. You're choking me." His request wasn't comprehended and he listened as the boy started yelling into his tie. Finally, he was able to get loose and pulled the offending material off. Caleb looked as if he were going to cry, so he placed the tie in his hand.

Gently, he lifted Caleb's face into his hands to stare into his feverish eyes. "Can you hear me, son?"

The boy tried to get back into bed, but the doctor refused to let him. Using his strength, he pulled him on his feet, ignoring his hallucinations about going to Disney World and Pac-men cannibalizing each other. It was slow going as they made their way down the hall with Caleb stopping to catch his breath.

Once they were in the large bathroom, the doctor quickly started pulling off the boy's pajamas, all the while talking to him. He ran the tub, quickly filling it with cold water. Caleb looked at him with confusion, wrapping his arms around his chest to keep warm. The cartooned boxers he wore did nothing to help him.

"Mac? What's going on?" At that moment, he looked younger than his thirteen years. "Where are we?"

Mac slowly approached him, he gently grasped his hands and started leading him to the enormous tub. "You're sick, son. You have a fever, and I suspect pneumonia. So, you're going to soak in the tub until we get your temperature down. Alright?"

"No." Caleb was quick to disagree. He stared at the tub for a few seconds, blinking rapidly. "No, I don't want to swim." He tried to escape his father's grasp. "Please, don't."

The doctor kept his voice calm, confident. He also kept a tight grip on the struggling boy. "Caleb, it's just for a short while. I'm with you. You're going to be alright. I just need you to focus for a moment."

As he neared the rapidly filling tub of water, Caleb's fear grew. "No, please." He tried to pull away, but in his state, it left him gasping and coughing. He felt his father hug him against his chest, then sit him down on cold porcelain, on the edge of the tub.

Mac kneeled in front of him, trying to keep him from becoming agitated. "It's okay. It's just a bathtub, son. You're not in the ocean."

Caleb looked scared. "Don't send me away. I'll be good. Please."

"I'm not sending you away, Caleb. It's okay." Mac slowly lifted the boy's legs and swung them around so that they were in the water. He was prepared when Caleb cried out and tried to get out. He wrapped his arms around his chest and pulled him down into the water. His screams were cut off by rough harsh coughs that left him winded.

The whimpers were shushed quietly and caring hands washed his body, cooling the fevered skin. Throughout it, Mac told him stories, happy stories of childhood games and imaginary friends. He spoke of nonsense, things he knew the boy wouldn't remember in his state. It wasn't what he said, it was his tone; he wanted the boy to feel safe and secure in his arms.

And slowly, he did. The fight left him gradually and he leaned into the caress of the cloth across his skin. Once he was relaxed, the doctor pulled out the first aid kit he'd stocked under the bathroom sink and found the thermometer. "Caleb, I need you to stick this under your tongue for a minute." He wiped the glass with alcohol before slipping it into place and holding it there.

The thirteen-year-old looked absolutely wiped out. He didn't have the energy to lift his arms. Once the appropriate time had passed, he read the temperate on the mercury glass. 103.6 F. The doctor shook his head; he could only imagine what it had been before the bath.

Caleb lay in the water, floating around. He didn't want to be there—but, for once in his life, didn't have the energy to fight anymore. Remarkably, he wasn't afraid; someone was holding him up, keeping him from drowning. The man was comforting, talking to him. He was touching him, but the touches were safe and gentle, like his mother who'd bathed him as a child. No one else had ever bathed him; at the age of five, he wanted to take care of himself—no one was going to replace his mother, not even his grandma.

Mackland let Caleb doze in the bathtub, hoping the cold water would lower the fever to a more manageable state. He grabbed the nearest phone and called the school to let them know that Caleb wasn't coming in. The second call he made was to his assistant Naomi, to let her know the situation. She wished him luck and Caleb a fast recovery.

He walked back to his son's bedroom and pulled out some warm sweat pants and a t-shirt. A clean pair of boxers were added on to the pile and he went to check on his ill child. Caleb was still sleeping, but he was shivering slightly in the tub. It was a positive sign, the doctor thought. The fever was coming down.

The doctor gently stroked the boy's forehead and cheek, calling out to him. "Caleb. Wake up."

Caleb woke, gradually realizing that he was in the bathtub. "Mac? Why am I in the bathtub?"

"You had a fever, son. A very high fever—you were hallucinating." Mac ducked down and pulled the stopper from the tub. Slowly, the water drained in swirls. "I needed to get you cooled down. Why don't we get dressed and warmed up?"

Caleb leaned his head against the rim of the tub, coughing lightly. "Okay." He closed his eyes again but was shaken awake.

Once the tub was empty, a towel was draped over his wet body. Mackland wiped him down before lifting him into a standing position. Caleb did what he could to help, but it didn't stop him from feeling like falling over. Stepping out of the tub, Caleb gripped the sink tightly, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Throughout it, Mac was able to finish wiping the water from his body and slipped him out of the wet underpants. The clean pair was professionally placed on his hips followed by his favorite sweatpants.

"Here, let's get this on." Mac held up the t-shirt and slipped it over his head. Once his head was through, it was easier to fumble his arms into it.

His father led him to the closed toilet seat and he was pushed to sit. A towel was rubbed through his short hair, drying it in quick order. He moaned at the touch; his skin hurt, his body ached, even his hair hurt. "Sore?" Mac asked.

Caleb sniffed a bit, "yeah." His hands flew to his face, pressing his fingers under his eyes, trying to relieve the pressure. When he opened his eyes, Mac was kneeling in front of him. The doctor tugged his hands away and replaced them with his own. Gently, he pressed down along his face. Caleb groaned as his fingers found the sensitive areas. His hands probed his throat, chest, and belly. He was thoroughly examined for any other ailments.

"I think you have a sinus infection, son. I want to listen to your lungs—can you breathe for me?" A stethoscope was warmed and pressed against his chest. Dr. Ames directed his breathing for a minute, listening closely for the crackle of rales that might confirm his earlier diagnosis. Thankfully, pneumonia was ruled out, leaving bronchitis a more likely culprit. Both could be treated at home with antibiotics and nebulizers. He handed him a couple of Tylenol tablets; it'd lower his fever.

"I'm going to call in a couple of prescriptions for you: Amoxicillin and albuterol. They'll help you feel better, breathe easier. I'll also see if we can get a humidifier for your bedroom." Mac stood up and held out a hand. Caleb nodded and stood, letting the doctor lead him back to his room.

Caleb sat at his desk while he watched Mac change his sheets, letting his head rest against the cold wood and his arm. The wood fogged with his breath and he drew shapes into the mist until it evaporated. A touch on his shoulder jarred him. "Sorry, son. Let's get you into bed."

His father helped him to bed; tucking him in like Isaac Reaves had done every night when he was a baby. A warm hand trailed across his forehead and caressed his cheek. Mac stepped out of the room for a moment, letting his son doze off.

Calling the corner pharmacy, Dr. Ames asked them to deliver the medicine to their apartment as soon as possible, paying extra for the service. He went back into the bathroom and rummaged through his medical supplies for a familiar blue container. The jar of eucalyptus/menthol rub was rarely used but was a blessing to have when congested.

Walking back into Caleb's room, it wasn't hard to see that he wasn't comfortable. The pillows had fallen to the ground where they'd been pushed, the blankets were half on and half off of his body as if he didn't know if he wanted them or not and he was laying in bed sideways.

"Caleb," Mac softly admonished, "Let's get you more comfortable." He leaned over and picked up the extra pillows, propping them up against the headboard. He untangled the sheets and the comforter was righted. Next, he helped the boy sit up against the pillows; it would be easier for him to breathe in a semi-upright position.

The blue jar was brought into the teen's view and he groaned at it. "I hate that stuff. It smells."

Mac smiled as he sat down beside him, "Yes, but it helps you breathe easier. I'll bring in the humidifier in a minute; that'll help as well." He opened the jar, both of them wincing at its pungent odor. He spread the jelly through his fingers, warming it slightly before lifting his son's shirt and gently applied the menthol on his chest and neck. Caleb squirmed a bit, embarrassed, but let him finish the ministrations.

The doctor wiped his hands, then dug up the old humidifier he'd put in the storage closet. The device was still in its original packaging; he'd never even opened it before. He'd bought it on a whim when it was on sale—he figured that he might need it sometime, but hadn't found use for it. He poured water in the plastic container and plugged in the machine. A vapor mist formed after the humidifier heated up. A small vial of eucalyptus oil was included in the kit, so he poured the vial in the water as instructed. Shortly, the room was filled with the pleasant fragrance of the oil.

Almost immediately, Caleb's breathing became less labored and he relaxed against the cushions. "Thanks, Mac. That helps. I think I can sleep now."

Mac smiled, "Alright, why don't you take a nap? I'll make you some soup while I wait for the pharmacy. Hopefully, it won't be too much longer." He walked towards the door, leaving it open. "Sleep well."

"Mac?" Caleb called out.

"Yes, son?" Mac turned towards him. "Are you alright?"

Caleb nodded, "Just tired… are you … going to leave?" He asked the question timidly, afraid of the answer.

"No. I'm not leaving, Caleb. I'm staying right here with you." Mackland stated it clearly, concerned. "Why do you ask?"

Caleb sat up straighter, pulling the covers up to his chest. "Don't you have to go to work? I mean, you don't have to stay. I'm okay if you need to leave."

Mackland walked over to his bedside again, sitting on the edge. He rubbed his mustache for a second before collecting his thoughts. He placed his hand on top of his son's, using his thumb to stroke his clenched muscles. "I'm not leaving you, son." He repeated it again. "Why would you think that I'd leave you when you're ill?"

Shrugging, Caleb shook his head, "I don't know… I just thought, you have work and it's important." He stared at his hands and was surprised when Mac's hand lifted his face to meet his eyes.

"My work isn't as important as you are. When I decided to adopt you, the priorities of my life radically changed, son. On that day, I put my family first—everything else falls into place after it. You're my son. Understand?" Mac let his hand drop away, waiting for the confusion to clear from the teen's eyes.

"Yeah, I think I do." Caleb smiled tiredly. "I just—forgot what that was like, you know? Most of my foster parents…well, most of them just wanted me around for the monthly check."

Mac was concerned, "And if you were sick?"

The teen licked his lips, his throat was becoming dry. Mac noticed and brought him a cup of water right away. "The last time I got this sick, my foster parents didn't even notice. I was in my room for a couple of days and they didn't even check on me. The school called them to tell them that I missed classes, so they broke down my door. I guess I'd made a mess in there… they were pissed. My bed was gross—I think I must've thrown upon it a couple of times and I was sweating, so it stunk in there. They made me clean it up, threw a bottle of pills at me, and went back to work. They said that I was costing them money and that I'd have to work to make it up to them. I had to mow the neighbor's lawns for like a month to earn it back. It sucked."

"Oh, my." Dr. Ames was shocked. While it wasn't surprising to hear a horror story about the American foster system, it was horrifying to hear a story like that coming from your child. "I'm so sorry, Caleb. I promise you; that will never happen again."

"I know. You're not like that." Caleb knew it in his heart. He wanted to say that he was an awesome dad; that he was the type of dad he dreamed that he would've had, but he didn't. It was too corny.

"I'm going to sleep now…thanks, again," Caleb mumbled, sinking into the pillows.

"Good night, son." Mac patted his chest before rising. He lingered at the doorway, just staring as he slowly fell asleep.

_Yes, his priorities had definitely changed._


End file.
